


Only the Brave

by becausenobreeches (crucibulis)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blindness, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucibulis/pseuds/becausenobreeches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tumblr request for something based on the song <em>Only the Brave</em> by Runrig</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Brave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartsung](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsung/gifts).



Cullen was no stranger to pain, but he’d never experienced anything like this. Each separate moment of his life became as significant and as keenly experienced as the new twist of a knife. Every scrape of his boots across uneven stone, every surprise of flavor at the dinner table, every skip of his heartbeat under an unexpected touch. Every time he caught the scent of something that invoked a vivid memory, something that smelled like summer, that smelled like home. Every time someone greeted him, and he could hear the mixture of sadness and compassion in their voice, apologizing without words for something that was never going to be their fault.

He was grateful to have Dorian as a near-constant lifeline. The mage was never far away, resting a comforting hand on Cullen’s arm or his shoulder, or encouraging Cullen with that practiced cheer in his voice. It was hardly the worst thing either of them had been through, after all, and Cullen tried his best to remember that. Tried his best to be strong. For Dorian. For everyone in this new, but familiar world who loved him, who sounded so earnestly grateful to see him _alive_. Because it _hurt,_ but it hurt because he was _alive_ and learning to love the world in a new way.

It was better at night in the dark, where it didn’t seem so out of the ordinary. Dorian cuddled up next to him in bed, a familiar presence, arms wrapped around Cullen’s waist as they sat there and talked about nothing and everything. Cullen ran his hand over the sleeve of Dorian’s nightshirt, feeling, exploring, _learning._

“Is this new?” he tried, frowning in the dark as he pulled at the impossibly soft fabric, knit in discernible but meticulous knots. Dorian laughed quietly from deep in his throat, but didn’t answer. “What’s it made of? You haven’t worn this before. Or maybe you have and I just wasn’t paying attention…?”

“It’s new,” Dorian admitted into neck, words tickling his eardrum. “I got it for you.”

“If it’s for me, then why are you wearing it–”

Cullen cut the question short, and turned his head to look at Dorian out of a habit he didn’t think he’d ever break.

Dorian had the most beautiful, most expressive eyes. Cullen had spent forever trying to decide what color they were before he finally realized they changed with the weather and sometimes his mood. They were grey when it was cloudy, or when he was frightened, and almost-blue when the sun was out, or when he was wary of something, and green when he was near the ocean, or when he was consumed with lust. And Cullen wanted so desperately to see what color they were now, to see the look on Dorian’s face when he saw that Cullen had figured it out. But all he could do was _hear_ the little happy breath through Dorian’s nose and _feel._

 _I will be your eyes, amatus,_ Dorian had promised in the boldest of whispers, not the soft pastels that other people used to paint their careful, sympathetic words, but courage. Strength for when Cullen could no longer be strong. He had such beautiful eyes.

But now all Dorian said was, “Well, I figured it would look better on me, anyway.”

Cullen’s heart nearly burst at the smile he could feel against his shoulder, followed by a warm kiss, and he choked as his lungs tried to sob and laugh at the same time. “Well, at least… one thing… isn’t going to change,” he managed between gasps for air.

“What’s that?” Dorian chuckled, and held him a little closer, but the words were constricted, tight, like maybe Dorian was going to cry, too.

“I can still depend on you to tell me how handsome you are.”

Dorian’s burst of laughter echoed off the walls, and Cullen leaned into it, into the warmth of him, into the bright moment that shone amidst the long, unending night, because Dorian was beautiful, and what they had was beautiful, even in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> http://becausenobreeches.tumblr.com/


End file.
